Vanagrad's Fighting Pit

The jam-packed battle pit roared, cheering for their chosen fighters. Below, the two frost giants duked it out, going blow for blow with their fists, nothing but their bare muscles to shield themselves from their opponent's strike. The redheaded frost giant's uppercut slammed straight into his opponent's hard abdomen, so hard it produced the same sound as punching the earth. Sturdy a frost giant's body may be, the immense strength packed behind the punch the black haired frost giant received made him lurch forward. As the redhead's fist was embedded into his stomach, the black haired giant countered with a devastating right hook into the redhead's face.

Yet despite receiving such catastrophic punches, the pain merely managed to amp another. The cheering of the crowd drove them into a frenzy, numbing them as they tunnel visioned on the glory that shall be handed to the victor.

The jarl's throne was occupied by her daughter, Gliah Storjorm, as she watched from up high, in the centermost vantage point that offered the best bird's eye view. Her short pale hair was the color of silver, her lips sharing the same shade of blue as her skin. Her muscles bulged underneath her tribal fur cloak. Her abs visible, the traits all combine to give her the image of a brusque beauty. With a mug of mead in hand, Gliah watched with delight as the two fighters clashed.

Suddenly, a gorgeous beauty with black warpaint smeared across her stunning blue eyes. Her long golden hair braided into locks. Although her muscles weren't similar to her frost giant friend, the blonde woman's tribal fur vest and skirt exposed her toned figure and her immunity to the freezing cold.

The frost giants guarding near the jarl's throne simply let the blonde woman get close to Gliah.

"Sorry I'm late. Get this, out of the blue, father had me hunting some rocs for whatever reason!" The exasperated woman took one of the seats right next to Gliah, they were smaller thrones reserved for the Jarl's family or revered guests.

Gliah chuckled at her friend's frustration, she would be too if she was suddenly sent on an errand when she is scheduled to fight and defend her title. Even so, Brynhildr Fist-and-Claws was bound to honor his father's wishes, for he was the clan's chief.

"Perhaps it was another one of his visions from the other side? Here, Bryn, take a load off." Gliah, handed her friend the mug of mead.

Taking up Gliah's offer, Brynhildr gulped a huge portion of the mead. Its delicious fruity but alcoholic aftertaste lingered, making Brynhildr momentarily forget her gripe towards her father.

"That must be. Worst part about it is that he's not telling me why I had to hunt the damned birds! He's like, 'You'll know soon enough, trust in the spirits of our ancestors.' The moment I become the next chief, I'm going to ask the spirits if they were truly being mysterious or is my father just a cryptic asshole."

"Not having to battle for the position of your clan's leadership sounds nice." It was an obvious dig from Gliah but one that was made with a smirk and rooted in their close friendship.

"Fuck you, I'll take on my brothers and sisters any day if I had any. How about you, you've already beaten both of your siblings but rumor has it, you have a half-sister in the mainland. What are you going to do if she barges here in Vanagrad and contests you for the title of the next Jarl?"

"It's not a rumor, father confessed to it just a few days ago. Said I don't have to worry about a damn thing because that sister of mine coming here 'cause she's going to be the next Queen of the Amazons. And how long have we been friends for, you think I'm going to lose to some half-breed?"

"Oh shit, it's true!? How did your mother react to the news!?" The news more explosive than a fireball had Bryn shook. The Jarl was a formidable frost giant, but his wife was one of the best warriors their tribe had ever known. It says a lot coming from a race of giants that extolled both battle and strength.

"Mother almost broke his spine. If she didn't love him, he would already be dead."

The two shared a mutual laughter at the expense of the current Jarl's well being.

Down below the fighting pit, the red haired frost giant was knocked out with an uppercut to the chin. After the other momentarily bathed in the crowd showering him with cheers for his victory before the next fighter was ushered in.

The male frost giant announcer who stood at the peak of the pit, no bard magic to carry his voice, shouted at the top of his lungs. An introduction that echoed all throughout the pit, carried by the sheer force of his vocal chords.

"GIANTS AND GIANTESS, THE MOMENT THE YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR HAS ARRIVED! A LEGEND RETURNING FROM HIS RETIREMENT, BOASTING 276 WINS AND 92 LOSSES, FARBOTI SGELENAD…!"

The fanfare from earlier has now doubled as a shirtless, muscle packed giant standing 8 feet tall has entered the arena. His long gray beard braided into a majestic lock. Farboti raised his fist into the air, making the crowd go wild even further, even going as far as to chant his name.

(Farboti! Farboti! Farboti)

"THE CROWDS ENTHUSIASM GROWS! BUT I'M GONNA NEED YOU TO TONE IT DOWN A BIT AS IT'S TIME FOR THE REIGNING CHAMP TO TAKE THE STAGE, WITH A RECORD OF 61 WINS AND 27 LOSSES, HAILING FROM THE TUNDRA'S WRATH CLAN! GIVE IT UP FOR BRYNHILDR FIST-AND-CLAW!"

"That's my cue." Bryn emptied her mug in one cup, tossing it onto the table next to her. She grinned. Finally, it was time to kick some ass.

"Bryn…!" Right before Bryn could jump below, Gliah called, making Bryn turn around to hear what her friend had to say. "...Go and give us a show."

Bryn's smile widened, "Expect nothing less."

Without fear, Bryn jumped into the pit below, a fall that would likely break a regular person's legs.

The unfazed Bryn walked towards her opponent, the two sizing each other up before the one inevitable clash.

Farboti cast her downward smirk, "The pup is now all grown up, eh. I remember when you and Gliah would sneak in here so you could watch the fights. Now, you two are practically running this pit."

"Likewise, never imagined I'd get to face off one day with one of my childhood idols. That said, you should have stayed retired, old man. Are you sure you won't break your back when you start throwing punches?"

The frost giant let out an amused chuckle. Despite living for almost half a millennia, his muscles did not betray his true age.

"These old bones can still snap you in half." Farboti balled his fists. He could feel his life force ebbing, his time in the mortal plane is almost up. Win or lose, it doesn't matter. One last fight, one last glory before he departs, that is all he wanted. "Allow me to show you!"

Farboti unleashed a forward kick, his colossal foot covering her entire stomach, sending her sliding across the floor.

Was it a cheap shot? You can make the argument, but in the pitt, cheap shots are part of a brawler's arsenal. Poke them between the eyes, smash their groin, anything that would spice up the fight. Barring the use of weapons, your avenues to destroy your foe are plenty.

Bryn stood, laughing as if the agonizing kick she received tickled instead.

"I'll fucking get you back for that, old man."

Farboti spread his arms, welcoming Bryn's threat and taunting her to put her gold where her mouth is.

Suddenly, Bryn's flesh contorted, morphing into an 8 foot tall monstrosity that would rival the frost giant in strength. Her transformation was done in a single second.

The human woman from the pit is now gone, replaced with an arctic werewolf that had fur as pure as Vanagrad's snow. The time for carnage is nigh. The battle lust overflowed from Byrn, making her let loose a primal howl that entranced the whole arena.

Seeing the werewolf charge at him, Farboti smiled like a madman.

"Yes, come at me with all your fury!"

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